


The Animals, the Animals

by ohpleaselarry



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cuddling, Dark Harry, Dom!Harry, Kissing, M/M, Minor Character Death, Prison AU, Rimming, Top!Harry, Violence, bottom!Louis, dark fic all around, dark humour, handjobs, though not really it’s more like, trigger warnings in note
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:42:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27540079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohpleaselarry/pseuds/ohpleaselarry
Summary: Admittedly, it’s not the first time Louis Tomlinson finds himself in handcuffs.The difference this time is these handcuffs are attached to a year long sentence. Not just that, but a year long sentence sharing a cell with a possibly mute 19 year old with dark eyes and even darker secrets.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 32
Kudos: 268





	The Animals, the Animals

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo so this fic is loosely inspired by Heathers, OITNB, and that one 2013(?) picture of Harry on stage where he’s nearly fully in shadow and outlined by blue light. 
> 
> Biiiig DISCLAIMER: this fic in no way echoes my view on Louis nor Harry. This fic is FICTION. Additionally, this fic romanticises things like violence, prison, and toxic relationships. Pls don’t read it and think of it as a goal. I know I don’t usually do disclaimers, but my last bad boi L/H fic got so much hate bc people didn’t think it correlated with their personalities irl. I know it doesn’t, it’s an au, it’s not meant to?! Alas, just be warned. The dark themes in this fic are written in a light, almost dark humour sort of way. This doesn’t correlate to my views on the boys, prison, or really anything discussed here. 
> 
> TRIGGER ⚠️ WARNING: this fic contains violence in a very descriptive way. This means gore, murder, and psychopathic tendencies. Rape/non-con is also very briefly mentioned, but may still be triggering. 
> 
> Now that that’s out of the way, I wrote this all in one go and am now uploading it a mere 24 hours after starting it. That almost never happens, so I guess I’m in a weird ass mood, so excuse any errors. Also, I know next to nothing about law or prison in general, and did little research for this. Pretty much all of it comes from what I’ve seen in tv LMAO. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it either way. Sometimes I crave dark harry and instead of searching for one to read I just wrote one haha. I’m so tired and I’m writing Larry again when I should be studying for finals next week pls send coffee and a nap tysm x 💚

Admittedly, it’s not the first time Louis Tomlinson finds himself in handcuffs. 

The difference this time is these handcuffs are attached to a year long sentence. More importantly, they’re not pink nor fuzzy. 

Okay. Maybe not  _more_ importantly, but whatever. He’s going to prison and he’s going to be stuck with that shitty sweaty dishevelled mugshot for the rest of his life. Not that the picture being bad is what he’s thinking about as he shuffles along in a horrendous orange jumpsuit, but it’s sort of all he’s thinking about. 

He’s lucky, really, that he only got a year. It could’ve easily been five or ten, and probably would have if he hadn’t gotten such a fantastic lawyer. Only getting a year for attempted murder. Which it  _wasn’t_ , really. He hardly counts holding a loaded gun with the safety off at someone’s head as attempted murder, but he isn’t a judge, sadly. He doesn’t want to get into it, anyway, too busy thinking about that horrible mugshot. 

The mugshot is the least of his worries as he’s led through boring hallways with headache-inducing fluorescents and up to a fucking double cell. 

“Singles were full?” He asks in a sigh. He’d think going into what’s supposed to be the nicest prison in North England would secure him a nice single room where he doesn’t have to sleep with one eye open. 

The guard just huffs and opens the huge metal door, shoving him inside and only unlocking his handcuffs through the lock flap in the door. 

Rubbing his sore wrists, he takes in the room. It’s small, a bunk bed pushed up against the wall, a toilet in the corner, a small table below the high window. It’s rather plain, and Louis’ cell mate sits cross-legged on the bottom bunk, zip jacket over his grey jumpsuit, hood up and over his head, hands resting on his knees like he’s meditating, bright green eyes staring at him with zero emotion whatsoever. There may even be boyish curls sticking out from his hood. 

“Louis Tomlinson.” He introduces, extending his hand towards the lad, who just stares at him, not moving a single muscle. Is he ever going to fucking  _blink_? 

“Right..so, uh, Styles,” he reads on the guy’s lapel, Velcro attached as all of the inmate’s surnames are, “you have a first name I can call you by?” 

The kid doesn’t say a word, so Louis sighs and climbs up to the top bunk, wondering if he’s going to get stabbed in his sleep. Then again, the kid really did look like just a kid. He couldn’t be older than, like, 20? Though Louis can’t talk much, sitting on a year sentence at 21. Being sent to a nicer prison, he was told this meant he’s being put with inmates who require a bit more security and precautions. He can only assume the people here haven’t done anything too insane, though. By assume he means hope, of course. 

Surprisingly, he doesn’t have much trouble falling asleep, despite the situation. As he drifts off, he wonders what his cell mate could’ve possibly done to end up in here.

-

He’s rudely woken by a loud bell and the noise of metal clunking as the doors to the cells slide open automatically. Yawning, he clambers out of the bunk and brushes his teeth at the little sink with the shitty brush he was provided, eyes wondering to see Styles is changing into a new but equally as grey jumpsuit. 

There’s a few tattoos littering his body, which is surprisingly really toned like he works out. His hair is indeed curly, and falls to his shoulders. He buttons the top portion of his jumpsuit, then turns and catches Louis staring. 

Louis isn’t a shy person, to put it kindly. He’s loud and brash and more time than not will make the move onto whatever girl or guy he’d like to have. Not that he wants Styles, of course, the guy is a criminal, but he’s definitely fit. Like, really fit. As in, if they’d met on the outside, he’d have the guy in his bed in less than ten minutes for sure. 

His green eyes stare right back as he reaches up and ties his hair back into a bun, eyebrow raising incrementally like a question. 

“Is there anyone I should stay away from at breakfast?” Louis asks, spitting his toothpaste and wiping his mouth clean, running a hand through his hair as if he has anyone to look nice for. 

Styles finishes his bun but otherwise doesn’t speak a word, picking up a necklace with a cross hanging and clasping it around his neck, tucking it under his jumpsuit. Just for him, then. He wonders how someone can be religious in a place like this, or if maybe it was a gift. He’s mysterious, this one. 

Louis sighs and slips on the thin Tom-like shoes, making his way to the doorway to go to breakfast. 

Just before he can step out of the cell, a hand takes his wrist and pulls him back in, then he’s being pressed against the wall roughly. 

“Don’t—!” Louis’ mouth is covered and his jaw is pressed up to expose his neck, then there’s lips on his throat, biting him. A lovebite? Styles gives him the mark rather quickly, then his tongue darts out as if he’s soothing it. 

“What the fuck? You can’t just?!” Louis doesn’t get the chance to be pissed off once Styles pulls away because then the boy just gives him a look and leaves the cell. Louis breathes harshly against the wall, reaching up to touch the mark and wincing. He’s normally not opposed to a bit of pain, but fuck, he thought he was about to be forced into much worse. 

He doesn’t ponder on it for too long, leaving the cell and following the traffic to the cafeteria, frowning at the aching in his neck he wasn’t expecting to be dealing with this early. Going through the line, he finds his stomach swirling uncomfortably as people stare. Quite a few people, at that. He sticks out like a sore thumb, with the orange jumpsuit he’s to wear until they bring in grey ones for him. 

It’s not the fact that they’re staring, it’s the way they’re doing it. Like he’s a new toy to fight over. As if Louis’ going to let any of these fucks near him. It’s disgusting, is what it is. They leer at him and whisper to each other as he steps through the breakfast line with his tray. 

“You’re new, pretty.” Some tall arse that looks like a muscly thumb steps up next to him at the end of the line, hand lowering down to sit far too low on his back. 

“Get the fuck—“

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.” The huge guy cuts into Louis’ protests, but he’s not looking at him, he’s looking behind him. Louis follows his eyes, and blinks when he finds it’s Styles, holding his own tray and jaw tight. 

“And now you know. Fuck off.” Styles talks for the first time, his voice about ten million octaves deeper than he’d expected, and a bit posh. Louis looks back to the guy, who’s a lot bigger and lot scarier than Styles, and yet he backs away and walks off without another word. 

Styles sets a hand on his lower back, a respectable middle rather than the grope the other guy was going for. Louis wants to pull away, but the guy did sort of just save him from whatever the fuck the other guy was going to do. 

He’s led to a round table in the back corner, where two other guys sit. They look surprised when Styles sits and motions for Louis to sit next to him. Their eyes are on his neck, where that love bite is probably darkening to a purple by now. 

“Um, hello.” Louis says, unsure if he’s meant to introduce himself. 

“Niall Horan, insurance fraud.” A dyed-blonde with an Irish tongue introduces, holding a hand out, eyes flitting between Louis and Styles as if it’s some huge deal. 

“Louis Tomlinson.” Louis casually doesn’t mention why he’s here. It’s too long of a story to even try and get into. 

“Liam Payne,” The second guy, a brunet, also doesn’t say his crime, so it’s probably fine, “how’d you make friends with Harry?” 

Louis tilts his head in confusion, until he hears a sigh from the mysterious boy next to him, and it clicks. 

“Ah,  _Harry_ and I are roomies, though I’d hardly call us friends. Hasn’t spoken a single word to me, that one.” He rolls his eyes, and the two boys laugh, but it’s nervous laughs. They keep glancing at Harry like he’s about to explode, but the guy just stabs at his sausage and munches like he’s bored, eyes scanning the room every few seconds. The name suits him.

“Yeah, he’s not much of a talker. Mind our surprise, he hasn’t brought someone new to the table since me, and that was two years ago.” Niall explains. He’s a bit of a talker, but it’s nice to meet someone relatively normal in here, instead of the heated stares and menacing glances he’s been receiving thus far. 

“You lads have been in here for two years?” Louis asks in surprise, looking around the table in disbelief. Nobody here looks older than him, and he’d thought he was going to be the youngest in the prison coming in. 

“I’ve been in for two, Li’s been for a little more than that, H for three.” 

Louis’ eyebrows raise in surprise, and he looks over to Harry immediately. The boy is just staring right back, because of course he is, face completely emotionless as it always is. Stoic as he chews his food. 

“You can’t be older than, like, 20.” He accuses, but Harry doesn’t reply, because of course he doesn’t. 

“He’s 19. Came in when he was 16.” Liam drops a casual bomb. Louis looks to him, eyes only widening further. 

“Shouldn’t he have gone to juvenile?”

“Not if he was tried as an adult.” Liam replies, then clears his throat and looks down to his tray. None of them offer up the  _why_. Louis doesn’t want to ask and receive something worse than a lovebite, so he nods and looks back to the shitty food and eats. 

He can’t help but notice how not a single person is staring at him now that he’s sat with these boys, so he figures he should be thankful in a weird way. 

-

Louis doesn’t see the other three for most of the day, as he’s brought around by a guard and shown his daily chore. Laundry, because of course it’s fucking laundry. There’s also some weird meeting thing he has to attend daily and talk about his feelings or whatever the hell. He’s mostly annoyed about it, because he’d rather not talk about how he feels in front of a group of others. The nice part about the day is when he’s shown to the lounge area, where a single bookshelf of monthly rotating books sit, along with pens and notebooks for those who care to write. 

Louis does care to write. He rather enjoys doing so, and hates the fact that his few journals filled with song lyrics and random thoughts are in the hands of  _fucking_ Stan Lucas. Pointing a gun at someone’s head doesn’t account for a divorce, apparently, so all of his shit is left to him. Louis can only hope the guy is kind enough to put it in a storage or maybe ship it to Donny. Literally anything but what he’s probably doing, which is reading it all. 

Either way, finding the notebooks and pens is a nice surprise, and he picks one of each up, tucking it against his chest and bringing it back to his cell, sliding them under his pillow just in case anyone wants to wonder in and steal something. 

He doesn’t see Harry Styles until the showers. Which, well..

His first shower in prison is extremely uncomfortable. The showers are set up like cubicles, with the entrances into each one only separated by a half wall, just tall enough to hide his bottom half from passerby’s, but not tall enough for any sort of privacy. He tries to finish quickly, struggling with his urge to face away so he’s not as exposed, but not wanting to give a chance for someone to sneak in behind him. 

“Is that a penguin tattoo, Tommo?” 

Louis peeks over his shoulder, heart climbing right up into his throat. 

“Kieran.” He breathes, probably not even audible over the sound of the showers. Kieran was caught a few years back. He was Stan’s right hand most of the time, and exactly nobody stepped in to help him out when his flat was raided. Exactly nobody bailed him out and exactly nobody got him a lawyer. He was put away for ten years or summat. The last time Louis saw him, they’d fucked at that same flat that got raided, and Louis just happened to leave that night. If he’d stayed, he’d probably have been chucked in this prison far earlier. 

“Thought you were put away in London?” Louis can’t think of what else to say, and he tenses when Kieran unhooks the little door and steps in, completely nude. 

“I was transferred a year ago. Maybe you’d know if you’d bother to come see me even once after you ratted me out.”

“It wasn’t me! I swear—!” Louis chokes off into a gasp when Kieran crowds in close, presses him against the cool tile of the shower, hand around his throat. 

“Who the fuck else would’ve? You were the last person to see me. Here I was thinking you’d leave Lucas for me, then I wake up to guns pointed at me. You fucking rat.” Kieran is seething, brown eyes dark and boiling with anger. Louis clutches his wrist, the other flailing at his chest, trying to escape, but he’s already up on his tiptoes, slipping with the water. His vision is just starting to blur when suddenly Kieran is yanked away and shoved to the floor, slipping easily with the water. 

Louis falls to his knees, coughing as he can breathe again, watching through fuzzy vision as Kieran is held to the floor with a knee to his chest. Harry Styles’ knee, as it turns out. 

“Are you fucking blind?” Harry asks Kieran lowly. It’s the second time he’s heard the kid talk, and it sends a shiver down his spine with the rasp of it. 

“I knew him before—“

“And that was before. Before is irrelevant. He’s mine here. Didn’t you bother to notice the mark on his neck?” Harry asks, then digs his knee harder into Kieran’s chest. He’s sure to break some ribs if he continues like that. 

“Fucking—I didn’t see it, I’ll leave him be, didn’t realise you’d claimed him, shit!” Kieran sputters as the knee is lifted from his chest, backing out of the showers and scrambling away. 

“Now you know. Spread the word..next person who touches him won’t live to brag about it.” Harry says as Kieran wraps a towel around himself and leaves the showers completely. He’s bigger than Harry, but everyone here seems to be scared of the guy. Louis should probably be worried about that, but he’s too busy trying to catch an even breath, dizzy with nearly being knocked unconscious. 

Harry’s in a clean jumpsuit, but doesn’t seem to care about his legs getting wet as he steps further into the stall and shuts the water off, then leans down, lifting Louis up by his elbows so he’s standing. 

“Breathe, Louis.” The boy speaks directly to him for the first time, his eyes so, so green and his voice buttery smooth, a stark contrast from the anger just seconds before. His long fingers lift up and touch to Louis’ neck, seeming to inspect where he was choked. Something really fucking dark and terrifying flickers through his eyes, but Louis knows it’s not directed at him. 

Once Louis’ breathing returns to relatively normal, Harry hands him his jumpsuit and his shoes so he can get dressed, then leads him back to the cell, not touching him but staying close, giving anyone who looks even close to their direction a glare. 

Back in the cell, Louis crosses his arms and shakes against the wall next to the doorway, leaning against it heavily, legs a bit weak. His breathing may have calmed, but his heart still pounds. He could’ve very well been killed just now. Where the hell are the guards around this place?!

Harry digs around in the drawer of the small table next to the bunk bed, then steps back up to him, holding some sort of tube. He steps up to Louis and squeezes some of the clear gel-like material from the tube, then reaches up and very gently rubs it into his neck. It’s painful, and Louis whimpers, instinctively reaching up and clutching at Harry’s lapel. It only lasts for a minute, before Harry closes the tube and then touches above Louis’ eyes, lifting his eyelid like he’s checking them. 

“What’re you—“ Louis chokes off when his throat seizes up painfully. He hadn’t noticed just how tightly Kieran was strangling him, apparently. 

“Tongue.” Harry says, and Louis doesn’t think about it too much as he sticks it out. The boy nods. 

“You a doctor or something?” Louis asks in a horrible sounding rasp. 

“How long exactly was he choking you?” 

“I dunno, like—“

“Try to remember. In seconds, exactly how long.” Harry steps away from him and sets the tube back in the drawer. 

“Ten? I don’t think it was 15, and it was more than, like, 5.” Louis clears his throat, throat aching terribly. 

“Do you feel tired?” 

“No.”

“Good. Have a rest before dinner.” Harry gestures to the bunk, and Louis lifts away from the wall, knees weak as he reaches for the ladder leading to the top bunk. He exhales slowly, just hoping he won’t fall and fucking brain himself on the hard tile of the floor. 

Harry steps over with a frown and takes his arm, pulling him to the bottom bunk instead. Louis hesitates, but his throat hurts too much to try and talk, so he crawls into Harry’s bed and curls up, watching the boy sit at the stool in front of the small table, a book opened in front of him, but he isn’t reading it. He’s staring again, eyes dark and maybe angry. Louis stares right back, because what the hell else is he going to look at, noticing that the pillow smells like him. Like the lavender shampoo they’re given, and something else he can’t describe. 

As he falls asleep, he realises he should probably be frightened of Harry, the lean 19 year old who somehow has all of these buff arseholes grovelling at his feet. He wonders why Harry’s “claimed” him. Why he would choose to protect him, and what that means he is expecting in return. It’ll probably be sex. Louis will probably wake up rather soon to a dick in his arse, Harry taking what he believes he’s earned. 

In the grand scheme of things, he supposes that possibility is more favourable than the other men who’ve approached him today, as fucked up as it sounds. Harry seems gentle, in a weird way. In a way that’s completely opposite from the persona he pushes. His fingers were very sweet as he spread whatever it was over his wounded neck. Maybe he’s guiding him into a false sense of security, though. 

Louis’ eyes flutter, and he finds that he just doesn’t care right now. Not when there’s naps to be had. 

-

He doesn’t wake up to a dick in his arse, but to a tugging on his wrist, a bell ringing in his ear. 

He’s climbed up out of the bed before he’s really even awake, tucking his feet into the shoes he’d kicked off. Harry stops him before they can leave, tilting his chin up with a finger, inspecting what is probably horrible finger-shaped bruises on his neck now. 

“S’ bad?” Louis croaks, voice not quite as painful, but definitely still aching. Harry nods his head once, then they leave the cell. He stays close to the curly lad, eyeing anyone who looks at his neck with wide eyes. They pass up Kieran in the hallway, and the guy only looks once, then lowers his eyes to the floor, not daring to linger. Louis knows there must be a reason Harry’s seemingly at the top of the chain around here, but he can only hope he doesn’t get on the guy’s bad side, and decides to clutch the back of his jumpsuit so he doesn’t get lost while they steadily walk through the dinner line and load up their trays. 

Nobody’s staring anymore. There’s only a few eyes that take brave peeks over, and they all look surprised. Nervous, maybe? 

Sitting at the table, Niall and Liam stare for a solid five minutes. 

“Please stop staring. It was Kieran.” Louis eventually sighs, setting his hard plastic spoon down with a sigh. They aren’t allowed forks and knives, and the spoons are too strong to break down to a shiv, so it’s rather alright, he thinks. 

“Kieran Foley?” Liam asks, eyes only widening further. 

“I knew him before. He got raided and I was the last person he saw, so he thought it was me who ratted him out.”

“Was it?”

“Fuck no. I’m not a snitch.” 

“Was it drugs or something?” Niall asks curiously, and Harry clears his throat abruptly. They all look to him, and he’s levelling Niall with a look. All at once, the table quiets. Harry’s confusing power doesn’t end with his friends, apparently. 

“No, it’s fine. Yeah, it was drugs. Smuggling coke between here and France. A bit in Italy. Mostly America. We had a lot at Kieran’s place. I still don’t know who tipped the law, actually.” He pokes around his plate, not really having an appetite. Just the water hurts going down his throat, so the chunks of the food doesn’t sound favourable, especially when it’s hard meat that seems to be competing to become the world’s hardest plastic alternative. 

Harry suddenly stands up and stalks off, leaving his tray, but he doesn’t leave the cafeteria, just going over to the line again. 

“Did he..claim you two as well?” Louis asks the second Harry’s out of ear range. 

“No, we were hoping to ask you about that, actually. It’s taken us two years to get what little information we have, and he’s  _never_ , like, claimed someone else before. Not like this.” Liam talks quickly, knowing they probably won’t be alone for long. 

“He’s saving me from dickheads trying to touch me. He told Kieran I was his. I don’t know whether to be thankful or terrified. Won’t he expect something in return?” 

“I honestly have no idea. We don’t know him, not really. We just know that when he started letting us sit with him, we didn’t get any shit anymore. Everyone’s scared of him. I think something happened in that year before we met him.” 

Harry’s walking back over, so Niall quiets. 

“Are we allowed to switch chores with someone? I’m stuck with laundry.” Louis changes the subject so they don’t look suspicious. 

“No, but I have to mop shit from the toilet floors, so consider yourself lucky.” Liam sighs, but Louis’ promptly distracted, because Harry stabs the nasty slab of meat from Louis’ tray and tosses it to Niall’s, then sets down a steaming cup of what seems to be chicken noodle soup. 

“How the hell did you get that? Don’t we only get soup on Saturdays?” Niall asks, biting into the horrid meat with wide eyes. 

Harry doesn’t answer, staring at Louis expectantly, so he scoops some broth into his spoon and then to his mouth, humming as the warm soup soothes his scratchy throat. His stomach aches for food, and this way he can get sustenance without fucking his throat further. Harry’s just sort of taking care of him at this point. It’s really confusing. 

“Thank you.” He murmurs, offering Harry a smile. The boy doesn’t return the smile, but he turns back to his own food, seemingly satisfied. 

Louis eats the whole bowl of soup, and almost wants to laugh, because some scary criminal in a prison has cared for him more in two days with hardly a word than his whole fucking husband did in five years. 

-

Louis wakes up the next morning feeling far better than when he’d gone to sleep. He’s up before breakfast, so he pulls the notebook and pen from under his pillow and jots down random rhymes going through his head. He’d always liked to think if he didn’t get into the deep shit he had, maybe he would’ve ended up being a singer, or maybe an actor. 

It makes him sad sometimes, thinking about what he may have missed out on by meeting Stan. He remembers those x-factor audition fliers that ended up in a bin. He could’ve taken that shot. Almost did, too. 

A soft exhale takes him away from the page, and he peeks over edge of the bunk, blinking in the dim morning light to see Harry’s on the floor, facing the bunks, eyes closed and hands on his knees just like the first time Louis met him. He might actually be that kind of guy who meditates. 

Louis flips his notebook closed and slides out of the top bunk, bare feet slapping the tile. He lowers to the floor right in front of the boy, and mirrors his position. Harry doesn’t move a single muscle, so Louis sets his hands on his thighs and copies his deep breathing. 

Just when he starts to get bored, a warm hand settles on his thigh. When he opens his eyes, he finds Harry’s looking at him, eyes bright despite the dark of the room. His hand trails up Louis’ thigh and takes his hand, pulling it to set on his knee. Louis realises he’s correcting his position, so he sets his other hand on his knee just the same. Harry nods a bit and then reaches up and gently presses a hand to his shoulders. Louis sits up straighter. The position is a bit uncomfortable, stretching his spine a bit as he’s more of a sloucher. 

“Now what?” He whispers, not wanting to break the quiet bubble they’re in. Harry takes a deep breath, then motions for Louis to do the same. When he does, Harry resumes the position and closes his eyes, breathing in time. 

He feels a bit silly, but he closes his eyes and copies along, just taking deep breaths for a terribly long five minutes. With nothing else to focus on, he finds himself lost in his head, thinking about his sentence, the fact that he might not see his sisters for a year if they decide not to visit. Mostly, he thinks about Harry. Wonders, really. There’s many,  _many_ questions he wants to ask, but he isn’t sure where the line is. 

He doesn’t want to start asking questions, and then Harry snaps and fucks him off to the wolves who’re clearly just waiting for Louis to become ‘available’. It seems a bit dramatic, to think Harry would just cut him off because he asks something wrong, but he truly just doesn’t know the lad. Anything could make him snap. Anything could make him direct those dead green eyes he gave Kieran right to him instead. 

Louis likes to think he’s rightly fit, but he’d be a fool to attempt to take anyone here on. If Harry’s standing up to men twice as big and twice as old as him, clearly he’s proven himself, and Louis would prefer not to be killed in prison, thank you very much. 

He doesn’t even hear the bell ring, only blinking out of his head when Harry circles his long fingers around his wrist. He startles a bit, looking to see their door sliding open, the sounds of people shuffling into the hallways for the day. His limbs feel stiff, despite only having been in the position for five minutes at most. Maybe ten?

“Huh, that shit works. Almost fell asleep sitting straight up, I think.” Louis sighs, standing up and stretching his legs out. 

Harry doesn’t laugh, just waits for him to slip on his shoes so they can walk to breakfast, but he wasn’t expecting one anyway. 

-

It takes Louis an entire month for the gravity of his situation to really hit him. 

It’s midday, and he’s just returning to the cell after finishing up his shift of laundry. He toes off his shoes and sets them by the doorway, pulling off his jacket and hanging it on the ladder of the bunk bed. Settling into the stool in front of the table, he flips open his notebook and finds he has one more empty page. In a 50 page notebook.

He freezes, looking down at his entry from yesterday, where he’d written a little poem thing about missing his mum. He’d even drawn a little doodle of a football, though it took him three tries to get the hexagons right. He’s been in for a month and a day, and nobody has come to visit. 

It’s not that he really expected anyone to. His sisters live in Donny and might not even know he’s in prison. Stan is the reason he was locked up, so it’s unlikely he’d visit, but Louis has friends. He has lots of friends. Non-drug related friends, even. 

He’s going to have eleven more months of hiding behind some half-mute kid and eating shitty slop for dinner every night. When he gets out, he’ll unlikely be able to go near his and Stan’s operation anymore. He’ll have to find a job with a criminal record. He might even have to go to fucking uni or something. Nobody’s visited him. He’ll be on his own to figure it out. 

Louis closes his notebook and looks around the cell he’s already so accustomed to. He  _used_ to it, is the thing. He’s used to the lack of privacy. He’s used to his ugly grey jumpsuit and the schedule of the ongoing days. 

Standing up from the stool, he walks on shaky legs to Harry’s bed and crawls in, messing up his neatly tucked in duvet and bunching the pillow up under his head. For the last month, Harry hasn’t tried to receive anything in return for the constant protection he’s giving. He’s gone resolutely quiet, but seems to listen as Louis blabbers on, not seeming to mind even when it’s during their morning meditating thing that’s become part of the schedule. 

The guy probably knows everything there is to know about him at this point, and yet Louis still knows next to nothing. 

Still, Harry is sort of a comfort for him. His protection ensures that he can sleep without worry. Shower without peeking over his shoulder constantly. Enjoy his time in the lounge area without any staring. So, it’s not surprising that laying in his bed, Louis’ breathing calms a bit, stopping any panic before it even starts. 

That’s how the boy finds him, stepping into the cell with a book tucked under his arm. He doesn’t look too surprised, stepping up to the table and setting his book down. Their eyes meet, and Louis offers a sheepish smile. 

“Sorry..m’ feeling blue and your bed’s warmer.” It’s not, really. It’s the smell and the fact that it’s  _Harry’s_ bed, but that’s a bit embarrassing and probably weird, so he just sticks with what he’s said. 

Harry just sits at the chair and flips open his book, reading on like Louis steals his bed all the time. Eyes drooping a bit, Louis recognises that he’s bottling up his emotions about the whole prison thing, but he’d rather not freak out now in the middle of the day, so he lies there and watches Harry read, plenty distracting enough from his head. 

It’s almost enough to stop the panic. 

-

It’s enough until that night, when he’s in his own bunk, staring up at the ceiling, two hours after the doors locked and the lights went out. 

He’s stock still, trying to listen to Harry’s breathing below him and forget the fact that his sisters probably know he’s in prison and probably aren’t visiting because they don’t want to associate with his fucking failure of a life and, and—

“Fuck.” He whispers, reaching up to desperately try and keep the emotions in, but they bubble over with a ragged sob. He digs his nails into his palms as the tears start to pour, a month’s worth of back-pedalled emotions flying to the surface. 

Within a minute, the bed below him crinkles and then Harry’s climbing up into the top bunk with him, hand on his hip turning him to face the wall, back to his chest. Oh, god. Louis’ at his most vulnerable now. Harry’s finally going to get repaid. He’s finally taking what he wants. 

“D-don’t, please—“

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Harry hasn’t spoken to him in weeks, and his voice is gravelly. Deeper than he remembers. Louis chokes out a sob as the boy pulls him into the position of little spoon, then wraps his arm around him, legs tangling. 

He’s cuddling him, Louis realises. He’s  _comforting_ him. The realisation only makes him cry harder. Harry settles a hand over his sternum, then leans in to his hair, nose at his ear. 

“Breathe..just let it out.” The boy murmurs. He’s got such a nice voice, it’s a damn shame that he only speaks up about as often as a solar eclipse happens. Louis tries to cling onto that, onto his voice. 

“Keep talking. Please, Harry.” Louis’ heart is beating dangerously fast, and he’s going a bit lightheaded. It’s probably just anxiety rising up because of how strong his sobs ripple through him. He can’t even think, he’s going to have a panic attack. Holy fuck, he’s in prison, his life is ruined—

“In year seven, I embarrassed myself in front of the entire school,” Harry takes a breath, voice a bit scratchy from lack of use, “we had a talent show, and I had been using my mum’s karaoke machine every night for years by then, so I decided to join. I wanted to sing something impressive, so I went with I Will Always Love You.”

“No way.” Louis chokes out through his sobs, trying to imagine a year seven Harry. More boyish, curls shorter, maybe. Singing Whitney Houston on a little stage. 

“Yeah. The singing was fine, I was hitting the notes and the judges looked proper impressed. Only problem is that before the show, I was so nervous that I’d drank three bottles of water before being called up.”

“Please tell me you pissed yourself.” Louis says, already smiling through his tears because he knows. He just knows it’s coming. 

“I was wearing jeans, so just before the second chorus, it just burst out of me, so fucking obvious. Pooled all over the floor and I just froze. Didn’t even run off the stage. Just stood there like an idiot for two minutes until the track ended.” 

“Oh my god—“

“Then, when I finally stopped being in shock and moved to exit the stage, I slipped and fell into my own piss.” 

Louis chokes into laughter, tears still in his eyes as he imagines the scene. He turns in Harry’s arms so they’re facing each other instead. 

“Are you serious?” He asks accusingly, taking in Harry’s usual stoic expression. The only tell that he’s not lying is the light flush over his cheeks, barely noticeable in the dark room, but definitely there. He’s still embarrassed about it now. 

“It was recorded, and they didn’t take it out when they sold the CDs. I had to switch schools when some dickhead posted it online.” Harry’s teeth are rather nice. Louis doesn’t usually see them, since the guy never fucking talks. 

They’re just proper cuddling, then, Harry’s hand casually fitting in the dip of his waist as if they do this all the time. Louis reaches up to wipe his tears away with a smile, and while his hand is raised, he just goes ahead and sets it on Harry’s chest, on the warm skin between his collarbones, peeking out between the lapels of his jumpsuit. He wants to touch him, suddenly. Wants to feel if he’s as soft as he looks. 

“Is this okay?” He asks in a whisper, trailing his hand up over Harry’s collarbone, to the side of his neck, up to his strong jaw. 

Harry doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t move away, either, eyes on him. Always staring. 

“How come you never talk?” 

“Don’t have anything to say, I suppose.” Harry replies in a murmur, blinking slowly when Louis’ fingers wonder into his curls. They’re soft to the touch, and Louis decides this might just have to be implemented into their schedule, especially with the way Harry’s hand tightens on his waist when he gently scratches at his scalp. 

“It’s a shame. You have a really nice voice. It’s calming..not just when I’m emotional, either.” Louis combs his hair back and then grazes his hand back to his face, brushing over his soft cheeks. He cups him there, and Harry’s hand on his waist folds over his back a bit, pulling him closer just the smallest bit. 

“Do you want me to talk more?” His lips move fluidly as he talks. Louis knows because he’s staring at them. The guy has the biggest case of blowjob lips he’s ever seen on someone. It’s right obscene, is what it is. 

“I mean..it can just be like this, if you want. Just when we’re alone. I don’t want to ask you to talk to other people if you don’t want to. Like..can I ask you questions? I have so many but I don’t want to step over some line I can’t see.”

“You can ask whatever you’d like, but I can’t promise I’ll answer,” Harry swallows thickly, then, “stop leaning in.” 

Louis blinks dazedly and smiles, hand still cupping Harry’s cheek. 

“M’ not.” He lies, ignoring his own pounding heart. 

"You are.”

“I don’t get it. You take me in before we’d even spoken and you protect me all this time but you don’t want anything in return? Are you straight?” He may be a bit bold tonight, but it’s only because he’s cupping Harry’s cheek, and his pinky is just over the pulse on his neck, and he can feel that the boy wants to just as much as he does. 

Louis’ kissed plenty of people in his life. He knows when a boy wants it, and Harry does. It’s a lot more subtle with whatever dark façade he throws off, but not quite subtle enough to hide it completely. 

“I don’t want you to kiss me as repayment.”

Louis tilts in just a tad further, until Harry’s face goes blurry and their noses brush. 

“You sure?” He asks, trying not to grin when he hears Harry’s breath catch. 

Then, the bed shifts as the boy rolls him onto his back, following so he’s on top, his huge hand collecting both of Louis’, restraining them above his head. His free hand trails up Louis’ torso, touching at the buttons that could so easily be undone. 

“What are you playing at?” He asks darkly, eyes intense when they meet his. Louis squirms a bit under him, quite liking the manhandling thing. He hasn’t even pulled one off in a month, and the sudden realisation of that has him abruptly aching downstairs. Very abruptly. 

“I’m not playing. Is it hard to believe I want to kiss you simply because I want to?” 

“Yes.” Harry’s answer is depressingly honest, and he almost looks confused, like he can’t understand taking pleasure just for pleasure and not for some other motive. 

“I’ve been expecting you to do it for a month now, Harry, you’ve been doing nothing but stare at me this whole time.” 

“You’re nice to look at.” The boy says, shrugging like he wasn’t expecting anything to happen. And to think Louis was waiting to wake up to a dick in his arse this whole time. 

“You know at first I thought you were protecting me so I’d owe you or something? I thought you’d fuck me awake at some point since you, like, own me or whatever.” 

Harry releases his wrists and then he slides out of the bunk completely, his whole head and shoulders still at his eye level, the tall fuck. 

“I’m not a rapist. Go to sleep.” He ducks down and shuffles into his own bed. Louis adjusts himself in his jumpsuit with a pout. He rolls onto his side, but now he’s cold. Now he knows how good Harry is at spooning. 

“Hey, H?” He whispers exactly two minutes later. 

“Hm?” 

“Can I sleep down there with you tonight?” 

“Okay.” Harry sighs, and Louis immediately jumps down from the top bunk, and clambers into the space between Harry and the wall, pressing up to Harry’s chest and sighing contently at the warmth. It’s like when he sleeps down here, except ten time better. This time he smells him in the flesh,  _and_ there’s arms around him. It’s that comfort he receives every day, except it’s tangible now. Physically transparent. 

“I didn’t think you’re a rapist. To be fair, I still don’t really know you. I just..wanna thank you. For taking me in. I’d actually be dead if you hadn’t, and it’s something I know can never be repaid. Wanting to kiss you isn’t because of that, because a kiss couldn’t compare to that. I want to kiss you because you make me feel safe and you listen to my bullshit everyday even when I’m 90% sure you’d rather sit in silence.” He tucks himself up under Harry’s chin with his little speech, and is glad when the boy doesn’t pull away.

“Go to sleep, Lou.” Harry murmurs, then rests his lips against Louis’ hair. The nickname makes him smile, snuggle in impossibly closer.

He’s asleep within minutes, completely comfortable against the criminal.

-

Louis’ sat in the lounge playing checkers alone when Niall pops down into the seat opposite him.

“Fancy a game?” He asks, and Louis grins, resetting the board. To be completely honest, he isn’t 100% on the rules of the game, but Niall doesn’t seem to be either, jumping like a madman over the board and taking three of his pieces at once. 

“I think that’s cheating.” Louis huffs a laugh, and Niall levels him with a deadpan stare. 

“I committed insurance fraud. Not following the rules is sort of my vibe.” 

“Oh my god, you did not just say  _vibe_.” Louis’ shaking a bit with laughter as he steals half of Niall’s pieces. 

“Paper scissors rock for the win?” 

They have a go, and Louis throws down rock, only to find Niall’s swirling his whole arm in circles. 

“The fuck is that?”

“A tornado. Your flimsy rock doesn’t stand a chance!” Niall leans back in his seat and completes the tornado with sound effects. 

Louis’ laughing so hard he might be crying a bit. He picks up a handful of red checkers and tosses them at the boy. Niall gasps in faux shock and reaches into the black pile to return the favour. 

“Oi, cut it out!” The guard standing next to the entrance of the lounge whistles to them, and then it’s back to reality. Prison. Prison with ugly jumpsuits and hot boys that won’t kiss him. 

Niall picks up the checkers, the sweet lad, then helps him as they arrange all of the pieces into a huge dick on the board. 

“So how much longer do you have?” Louis asks, and Niall smiles softly, chin resting on his palm. 

“5 months, actually. Usually insurance fraud cases don’t get more than six months to a year, but it was pretty bad. I may have only gotten caught the fifth time around. I got three years altogether, and community service when I’m out. You?” 

“11 more months. I got a year. I was supposed to get five or ten but my lawyer was fantastic, plus I’m kind of incredible at playing the ‘kid who got in the wrong crowd’ role.”

“Five or ten years for smuggling drugs? Damn, did you run the whole thing?” 

“Uh..no, I was, well,  _am_ married to the guy who does. I mostly worked the social aspect. Get new people in to help or to fuck over.” 

“Did he get the full sentence?” Niall looks genuinely curious. Louis chews on his lip and glances around the lounge. There’s two or three other inmates hanging out. Reading or putting puzzles together and most importantly not listening in. 

“He wasn’t caught. Nobody in the ring was. My arrest wasn’t related to that, so it wasn’t sniffed out.” 

“Oh..is it bad? Or, I mean, forget I asked. Harry would be pissed if he found out I was prying. It’s not my business.” Niall fiddles with his shirt and glances to the clock on the wall, shifting like he’s going to leave. 

“What? It’s not Harry’s business either, you know.” 

“Isn’t it?” Niall asks, but in a sort of gentle way, almost like he’s telling him a truth he doesn’t want to hear. Louis grits his teeth as Niall stands up and leaves, burning holes into the checker piece cock they’ve arranged on the board. No wonder Niall and Liam seem uninterested. Harry must’ve warned them off. Louis gets warning the huge arseholes off, but his own friends? Is that even necessary?

Louis is angry by the time he gets back to the cell, ten minutes before showers. Harry’s next to the doorway of the cell slipping on his shoes, so it’s easy to step inside and right up to him, arms crossed. 

“Did you tell Niall and Liam not to talk to me?” 

“What did they do?” Harry asks immediately, jaw tightening. Louis scoffs and reaches out, pushes at the younger’s chest. He barely moves, eyebrows furrowing as he realises that Louis is cross with him, not his friends. 

“They won’t even have a normal fucking conversation with me, and this whole time I thought it was because I had to win them over, but really it was just come power tripping dickhead who thinks giving someone a lovebite constitutes ownership!” 

“Louis.” Harry says lowly. It sounds like a warning. One he’s not going to listen to. 

“You don’t  _own_ me, Harry. You can’t fucking threaten your harmless friends away from me just because you want me all to yourself! And for what? So you can just stare at me all day and not even make a move? Do you get off on it or something? The long case of blue balls? The anticipation? The weird power you have everyone under in this shitho—“ Louis hisses when Harry growls and grabs him, shoving him roughly against the wall. He presses in close, eyes dark and so damn angry. Only this time, it’s directed at him. He’s snapped, fucking finally. 

“Watch your mouth, Louis. You’d be six feet under if I hadn’t claimed you. You’re more mine than you are yours. I could take you any way I want, and you couldn’t say shit because it’s  _mine_.” His voice is dangerously low, menacing, frown deep set and curls falling over his eye a bit, his rough hold on Louis’ hips sure to leave bruises. 

“ _God_ , Harry, have me then. Fucking k-kiss me if I’m yours. Anything, anything—“ he’s gasping, a bit desperate, hands clutching at Harry’s jumpsuit. The boy blinks at him twice and then surges forward, joining their lips after what feels like years of tension. 

Louis tries to pull him closer, tugging on his soft curls, and Harry does crowd in, tongue slipping into his mouth as he reaches down and just gropes him shamelessly, his big hands holding his arsecheeks roughly as he separates their lips and immediately latches onto his neck just like the first day they’d met. 

“Fuck.” Louis whines, head tipping back against the wall as Harry sucks a new mark, a lot less painful than the first time and lot more pleasurable. He bucks his hips forward into Harry’s thigh, making his problem downstairs fairly obvious. 

One of Harry’s hands leave his arse, and he keens because he knows this means he’s going to be touched where he really needs it, and then the terribly loud bell rings above their heads. Shower time. 

Harry pulls away completely, stumbling back into the ladder of the bunk bed, eyes wide and showing more emotion than Louis’ seen the entire time they’ve known each other. They catch their breaths, and Louis gives him a heated once over, finding a nice tent in Harry’s jumpsuit as well. Not that he needed confirmation that it’s mutual, of course. 

“Showers. Let’s go shower.” Harry says, reaching blindly for his towel hanging on the wall. 

“Or we could skip and go to bed early.” Louis says very suggestively, tongue darting out to moisten his lips. 

“No, lets get clean.” Harry says roughly. There’s just something about his dark ordering voice that sends a rumble of want zipping up Louis spine, and he can only hold his towel in front of his crotch and hope nobody gets an eye full in the shower. 

He’s shaky through the whole thing, dropping the small shampoo bottle twice, exhaling a soft whimper as he washes his bits. It takes everything not to wrap a hand around himself then and there. 

Back at the cell, he only steps inside when he’s pulled back to the wall again. Right, they can’t go to the bunk. It’s visible to anyone passing by, as the doors won’t be closed until after dinner. 

Harry’s gentle, this time, his wet hair pulled back into a bun, one hand pressing against the wall next to his head like some fucking hot frat boy. Louis reaches out for the pocket of his jumpsuit, pulls him so they’re pressed together. 

“M’ all clean now.” He says, looking up at Harry through his eyelashes. The boy’s hard expression is faltering a bit, eyes raking over him. 

“This can’t..let’s wait until after dinner. When we have some privacy.” He touches at the mark he’d just previously made on his neck. It’s a bit sore. Louis tilts his head back to give him more room. 

“You sure? You want to wait even longer?” He touches his own button of his jumpsuit, like he might just start undressing right there. Harry takes his wrist, stopping him. 

“Yes. Let’s meditate.” He pulls him to the centre of the room, and Louis smiles in victory when he sees Harry having to adjust himself once they sit. The boy wants it just as much as he does. Maybe it really is the anticipation for him? 

Whatever it is, Louis closes his eyes and meditates, stomach rolling with want as he thinks about tonight. The two of them in the dark room, locked door, pressing together in the small bed. 

-

Dinner feels like it takes years. Louis eats quickly, listening to Liam’s story about a trip he’d taken to Japan before he was arrested. He still doesn’t know why the guy was put in, but to be fair the only one they all know here is Niall, and only because the guy mentions it all the time. 

After dinner, Louis hangs off Harry’s arm for the walk back to their cell, then he steps right over to the bottom bunk, sitting there cross-legged. Harry sits opposite him in the chair for the table. Right, they’re waiting for the doors to close. 

A guard steps on by their room, peeking in to make sure they’re both there, and carries on. Ten minutes later, the lights above them dim, and the doors clunker to a close, the metal locking sound heard soon after. 

Immediately, Harry stands. Louis lies back on the bed as the boy crawls over him, fitting between his legs, and kisses him right off the bat. They snog steadily for about five whole minutes, but the moment Louis tries to unbutton Harry’s jumpsuit, the boy lifts away, lips shiny with spit and eyes even shinier. 

“Fuck, this can’t happen.” He grumbles, nuzzling into Louis’ neck and trying to calm himself down. 

“Why not?” He asks in a sigh, reaching up to scratch at Harry’s scalp like he did before. The boy tilts up into it like an actual cat. 

“I can’t—its—is this purely physical? Do you want this just for the sex?” Harry pulls away from his neck to see his face as he answers. Louis flushes a bit, maybe a little embarrassed. 

“No..I care about you. I want this.” 

“That’s exactly why we can’t do it. I won’t let you have feelings for me, it’s not going to be okay.” He’s not making any fucking sense, and his voice is just a little shaky. Louis reaches up and cups his cheek, swipes a gentle thumb over it. 

“I’m afraid you don’t have power over every part of me, love. Sort of far too late to stop feelings from happening. Are you saying it’s not mutual?” He asks even though he knows it is. Can see it in the way Harry has cared for him for a whole fucking month. Just giving and giving and not taking anything in return. 

“You get out in 11 months.” 

“Yeah?”

“And I don’t. I’m not..good, Louis. You don’t know me, you don’t know what I’ve done. You need to forget about this. Get out in 11 months and go find someone who can take care of you.” Harry runs a hand up his waist, like he wants to pull away but can’t. Louis frowns, confused and still turned on but mostly just confused. 

“I’ve been with plenty of people before, H. Nobody’s ever taken care of me the way you do. I’m not good either, you know? God, I’m in here for attempted murder, did you know that? I held a loaded gun to my husbands head because he wouldn’t agree to a divorce. I failed my a-levels and decided to get into smuggling fucking cocaine instead of trying again. We’re both fucked. We’re both in prison.” 

Harry doesn’t look even slightly fazed at this information, eyebrows furrowed and just hesitating. 

“You’re going to get hurt. If you let me touch you, you’re going to end up hurt.” 

Louis knows he probably means emotionally, but he’s rather done with this nonsense. He reaches down and pops the top button on Harry’s jumpsuit.

“You can hurt me a little, I can take it.”

“S’ not what I mean, Lou.” Harry’s barricade is falling quickly with every button Louis pops open. He uncovers more and more skin. More tattoos. More nipples, even. Then, those shitty boxers they’re given. 

Louis reaches right under his waistband and circles a hand around the boy’s cock. 

“I don’t care, Harry, I want it anyway. I  _need_ it. Won’t you take care of me? Give me what I need?” He asks innocently, and Harry blinks in surprise for a moment, before he bends down and kisses him, groaning when Louis starts to jerk him off. Louis’ mouth might be watering. 

“I can’t give you anything once you’re out. I can’t be with you. If we go too far it’ll fuck us both up.” Harry mumbles against his lips, grinding down into his hand with a gasp. 

“I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait ‘till you get out—“

“M’ not, Lou. I’m not getting out.” Harry leans back to gauge his reaction, eyebrows knit together. He cups Louis’ cheek, and Louis can’t help but still, hand no longer yanking him off, eyes widening. 

“What?” He whispers, voice cracking on the word. Harry sucks in a breath, hand shaking when he touches at his hair, moving it away from his forehead. 

“It’s..I got a life sentence without parole. I’m going to die here, I’m never leaving. That’s why you can’t have feelings for me. It won’t work out. You’re going to get out and I’m going to be here and I couldn’t live with myself if you’re stuck visiting some fuckin’ criminal in prison forever.” 

Louis takes his hand out of Harry’s pants and pulls him in for a kiss, breathing staggering with this information. A life sentence. What could he have done? What did sweet little 16 year old Harry Styles do to deserve life without parole? 

“Roll over.” He murmurs, and Harry does. They switch around so Louis’ straddling him, bent over him so he doesn’t hit his head on the top bunk. Harry’s hands skate up his thighs, and his pretty green eyes are swimming with more emotion than Louis’ ever seen in them. 

“Okay, so we enjoy it then.”

“Louis—“

“No, Haz. We enjoy these 11 months and in the end we say goodbye and that’s that, yeah? I’ll come visit but I will move on. I’ll find some nice person and pump out some kids and then I’ll bring them to meet you.” 

“Don’t make promises you won’t follow through on.” Harry rasps, eyes fluttering like he’s getting emotional. It’s alright, because Louis is too, heart racing and his fingertips tingling with anxiety just thinking about it. Leaving Harry in here with his sad eyes and shitty meals and the tiny hour they’re allowed outside in the yard daily. 

“Do you take me for a man who can’t keep his word?” He asks, then grinds down onto him. Harry’s mouth slacks, hands tightening on his thighs. 

“F-fuck, you’ll let your kids meet me? Some guy you fucked in prison?” 

Louis huffs a laugh, continuing the constant circling of his hips, holding onto the bars above his head so he doesn’t just fall over. 

“Yeah, I’ll let them meet the guy who saved my life.” He’s not going to last long, even with just the grind of them together through the thin layers between them. He’s been on a dry spell for a month now, so he’s a bit overdue anyway. 

“You saved me too.  _Ah_ , ah, god—“ Harry’s head tips back as he comes with the hottest guttural moan. Louis watches him for as long as he can, before his eyes flutter closed and he follows along, arms shaking and weak, causing him to drop forward over Harry’s chest. 

They lie there for quite a while, coming down from the high. Louis wants to ask why he got a life sentence. He wants to ask how he could have possibly saved him. He wants to ask why he’s never seen him smile. 

Instead of asking, he pulls Harry as close as he can, and doesn’t cry until he’s asleep. He cries for the boy, the 16 year old he never knew who never got to live. He cries for the loss of what they’ll never get to have. A life together. Mostly, he cries because sometime in the last month, he sort of got comfortable in this setting. Prison with Harry. Eating and sleeping and meditating with him. He’d forgotten that it wasn’t always like this. That he didn’t have Harry before, and Harry didn’t have him. 

He cries because he doesn’t  _want_ to leave, and it’s so fucked up that he doesn’t. It’s fucked up that he kind of doesn’t need to know why Harry ended up here, because he did, and they’ve found each other. 

Harry doesn’t want his feelings to dig too deep, and Louis doesn’t know how to tell him that they already have. 

-

The next day, Louis wakes up feeling quite nice. Probably because when they climb out of bed for their usual morning meditating, Harry kisses him before they start, eyes shiny in the rising sun. At breakfast, he settles a sweet hand on his thigh, and presses a kiss to his head before they part for their chores. 

Louis’ in some sort of daze as he folds up jumpsuits and bedsheets. His chore goes by in a breeze, and he spends all of his lounge time staring out of the window with a small smile, forgoing checkers or writing or anything else. Thinking about how when he gets back to the cell before showers, they’re probably going to share another kiss. In fact, he decides to head over early. He never does, enjoying his alone time usually, but now that he’s had a taste of Harry, has seen him come, he wants more. Everything, really. 

He’s so distracted that he doesn’t notice the two men waiting in B hall until he’s being shoved against the wall. 

“Fucking—get the fuck off of me.” Louis gasps, eyes wide on Kieran. He’s holding Louis by his shoulders and thankfully not his throat this time, and there’s another guy stood behind him, outnumbering him, the coward. 

“Where’s your boyfriend, then? Fucking idiot left you alone—“

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Foley. You don’t know Styles.” The guy behind Kieran says, looking down the hall anxiously. 

“You should listen to the smart one. He’ll know who touched me.” Louis’ breathing picks up quickly when he sees Kieran pull a toothbrush from his pocket, snapped just right so the plastic is sharp on one end. A weapon, really, which he lifts up and shows Louis with a manic grin. 

“I’m not scared of Styles, the kid looks like he’d fall over with a light breeze. I’m stuck in here because of you.”

“I told you I didn’t fucking rat you out, why would I have?! If anything it was more likely Stan, he’s the one who hated you after he found out we were fooling around.”

“Fuck up, Tommo, I’ve been waiting long enough for this, I’m not hearing your bullshit—“

“Oh, fuck, we need to go, Foley.” The other guy starts to back away, and Louis turns just in time to see the absolutely terrifying dark look in Harry’s eyes just before the boy yanks Kieran away from Louis, shoving him into the opposite wall. 

The second guy attempts to turn and run, but Harry yanks him back, leg sweeping out and tripping him onto his back with a rough noise, then clocking him right in the jaw, knocking him unconscious immediately. 

“Harry!” Louis gasps at the scene, shaking against the wall. Harry doesn’t even seem to hear him, walking over to Kieran who’s only just lifting away from the opposite wall. He slams into the guy, bringing him down and taking Kieran’s breath out. 

“Wait, Styles—“

“You should’ve listened in the showers. Next person to touch him won’t live to brag about it.” Harry’s voice is deeper than he’s ever heard, and Louis chokes out a gasp when the boy lifts Kieran’s head, then slams it into the hard tile below them with a sickening crack. 

Kieran’s limbs begin to twitch in the way that only happens with brain damage, and Harry isn’t finished, slamming him a second time. 

Louis stares in horror at the blood that begins to pool under Kieran’s head, and can’t look away even as Harry approaches him. Can’t look away from the stillness of him. The absolute stillness and the dark sticky blood that slowly spreads over the white tiles. Can’t look away until he’s forced to, Harry crowding in close and obstructing his view. 

“Don’t look, Lou. Look at me. Take a breath, c’mon.” Harry looks  _scared_ of all things, hands cupping his cheeks, so gentle and soft compared to the monstrous rage he’d just shown. 

Louis can’t breathe, choking on his own sobs, going dizzy with the lack of oxygen. 

“Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry. Please breathe, baby. Don’t stop looking at me.” Harry reaches to his own neck and unclamps his cross necklace, and places it on Louis’ neck. Why is he doing that? Why put jewellery on him in the middle of this? Shouldn’t they be fleeing or something? Doing anything at all? 

“H-Harry, what—oh my god.” Louis is having a panic attack. He knows he is. He does as he’s told, keeping his eyes in Harry’s, who’s own are watering. He’s never seen Harry cry, but the boy is, taking a step away and holding his hands up like he’s surrendering. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, baby, please. I’m sorry, Louis, I’m sorry. I’ll never hurt you, I couldn’t.” He sobs and falls to his knees in front of him, hands still up in surrender. Louis is confused, until he realises what he’s doing. He doesn’t remember grabbing Kieran’s shiv, but he’s holding it, shaking terribly as he points it at Harry. Some sort of instinctual fight or flight against someone who he’s just watched kill one or maybe two people. 

He drops the shiv like it’s on fire, and he can see Kieran in his peripherals, but he doesn’t dare look, sliding down the wall to his arse, pulling his knees to his chest. 

“What have you done, Harry? Oh my god, I can’t breathe. Harry, Hazza—“ 

“Can I touch you? Louis, please, you have to breathe.” Harry walks forward on his knees as soon as Louis nods, and then he’s pulling him into a hug, wrapping completely around him. Louis, finally, inhales a deep breath, focusing on the feeling of Harry’s sobs against him, his ragged breathing. 

“Close your eyes, love, keep them closed until you’re away. You have to promise me you won’t look.” 

“Okay, okay.” Louis does, squeezing his eyes closed as he’s told, heart slamming in his chest as Harry pulls away. He curls into a ball, not looking even though he wants to. There’s some shuffling, a bit of shouting, too, more people coming onto the scene. 

“It was me! It was me! Please, just take him to a medic, he’s having a panic attack!” Harry’s shouting for some reason, and then there’s people telling him to lay down and put his hands over his head, the sound of shoes slapping the floor and handcuffs jingling as what’s probably officers restraining him. 

“Keep your eyes closed, Louis! It’ll be okay, we’ll be okay!” Harry’s voice is fading as he’s pulled away, and Louis hangs his head between his knees and tries to breathe. Remembers being 12 years old teaching Lottie to ride a bike. She’d fallen over when he’d looked away for two seconds and had broken her wrist. Mark scooped her up into the house, and Louis had been struck with guilty panic for not keeping a better eye on her. Mum had gently told him to sit like he is now, head between his knees, and take deep breaths. 

He hears her voice, now. Telling him to focus on what he can feel. The tears on his cheeks, the cold chain Harry’s put on his neck, the feeling of his jumpsuit against his skin. A hand settling onto his shoulder. 

“Can you stand, Tomlinson?” A voice asks. He doesn’t recognise it. It must be an officer. 

“Just—a minute, please.” Louis says, taking four more deep breaths. He misses his mum. He misses her more than anything, suddenly. Remembers their last hug painfully. Their last everything.

He sobs, and cries for another three minutes, before his lifts his head and nods. The officer helps him up, and Louis wants to open his eyes. He feels relatively steady, now. Harry told him to keep his eyes closed, but he opens them anyway, meeting the officers eyes. The man is frowning. There’s people all over the fucking place, a crowd of inmates at either end of the hall watching on, the second bloke who was Kieran’s backup sitting up with a hand on his bleeding nose. He’s not dead, thankfully. 

Movement to the right of the officer catches Louis’ eye, and he looks. Harry told him not to look, but he does, and immediately realises why he was told not to. 

An officer is crouched over Kieran, fingers to where his neck meets his jaw like he’s checking for a pulse. They’ve turned his head to do so, so his face is towards them. 

Kieran’s eyes are open. Still. There’s blood continuously dripping from the back of his head, and some seeping from his ears. His nose. A lighter liquid, too, and it takes him a few seconds to realise it’s something other than blood. Spinal fluid or brain matter or something fucking seeping out of him because he’s dead. He’s  _dead_. 

Louis turns away from the officer and promptly hurls up everything he’s eaten that day, vision blurring in the edges. He barely registers being lifted by his armpits and shuffled away. Barely notices as he’s put on a shitty gurney and wheeled to medical. Barely notices much of anything, unable to get that imagine out of his head. Kieran’s brown eyes still and dead in a way that not even the best actors in movies could ever imitate. 

The worst part of it all: Louis wonders if Harry is okay. Harry, the boy who’s just killed a man and knocked another out. The boy with a life sentence and the boy who didn’t hesitate. The boy who looks like he couldn’t hurt a fly, and yet his eyes were so dark. Dark in a way Louis hasn’t seen on even the nastiest guys here. 

For the first time since they met, Louis realises why the people here are so terrified of Harry Styles. 

He’s a monster. 

-

“Alright. Before we start, I want to inform you that we have cctv footage of what happened, so there’s no reason to lie. Just answer our questions and we can get you back to normal soon enough.” 

Louis’ handed a steaming mug. Coffee or maybe hot cocoa. He doesn’t take it, fiddling with Harry’s cross around his neck and nodding. He wasn’t planning on lying anyway. 

“What connection did you have to Kieran Foley? He’d hardly given us trouble before.” The past-tense isn’t lost onto Louis. He closes his eyes as a shiver goes through him. 

“I knew him before prison. We shared a brief affair before he was raided. He attacked me because he thought I was the one who tipped off the police. He wouldn’t listen when I tried to tell him it wasn’t me.” 

“And the toothbrush shiv? How did you get it?” 

“Kieran brought that. He was going to stab me. I thought you’d watched the footage?” Louis gives him a look, and the warden nods, jotting something down. 

“Just making sure we’re on the same page. What’s your connection to Harry Styles?” 

“He’s my cellmate. He’s saved me both times Kieran attacked me, and has kept me safe the whole time I’ve been here.” 

“Both times?” 

“My second day here Kieran came into my shower and strangled me. Harry pulled him off and warned him to stay away from me. God..please, can I see him? Can I see Harry? I just need to let him know I’m okay. He won’t believe it until he sees me.” Louis rubs at his wet eyes, a bit distraught. The warden slides a tissue box across the desk. He doesn’t ask why Louis didn’t report the first attack, probably used to inmates not keen to snitching. 

“Sounds like you’re close. Has Styles come onto you? Has he talked about hurting anyone before?” 

“No! No, he isn’t like that—he only hurt them because they were hurting me. He never would have otherwise. We’re just..he’s my friend.” Louis doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t think it’d be a good idea to disclose their relationship, if that’s what it is. He feels like it would be a bad thing to do. Like it would only result in separation. 

“And Harry’s never hurt you?” 

“Never. He was saving me, fucking  _again_. It was defence, Kieran attacked first, you have to understand. He can’t pay for this, he’s done nothing but be kind to me.” 

“So you don’t want to be transferred? To a different cell or a different prison? You want to stay in your shared cell?” 

Louis’ just watched Harry kill a man and seriously injure another. He’s just watched Harry turn feral, terrifying in a way that made his body naturally want to protect itself, and yet, he doesn’t hesitate. 

“No. I just want to go back to normal.”

-

He doesn’t see Harry for a week. 

Niall and Liam don’t ask about it, the saints, but it’s not like they need to. The story spreads like wildfire around the prison. People stare at Louis like he’s a bearded woman. Niall and Liam stick to his side more, just in case, protective in Harry’s place. 

It’s not really needed, anyway. Louis realises why Harry’s given him the necklace on day two, when that burly guy from his first day in starts to approach him, looks to the necklace, then spins on his heel and walks the opposite direction. It’s a branding of sorts. A warning to steer clear of him even without the boy himself around for protection. 

He can’t get over that fact. That after murdering a man and having a shiv being pointed at him, Harry still thought to give the necklace to him. He knew he’d be taken away to wherever the fuck he is. He knew he wouldn’t be around to protect him. How he could even  _think_ during that is beyond him. Louis can barely remember the events, cloudy like some fever dream he had, fuzzy as his brain tries to block the trauma away to stop another panic attack. 

Then at night, Louis sleeps in Harry’s bed alone, face buried in his pillow, desperately chasing his fading scent so he can sleep, pulling the blanket as tight as he can around himself to imitate the feeling of his arms around him. It’s not the same. He’s exhausted most of the time. Can’t get more than a few hours every night. He forgets to go to meals sometimes. He writes to the warden and begs to see him, or just to know if he’s coming back. Anything. No response. 

With the exhaustion and the malnutrition and the sadness, when the door opens an hour after lights out a week after the incident, Louis immediately thinks he’s hallucinating. 

He sits up, blinking rapidly as a shadow steps into the room. The door closes with a slam, and there’s the clink of handcuffs. Harry turns, twisting his hands in circles when they’re free. Even in the dark, his pretty eyes are clear. 

“Am I dreaming?” Louis asks, heart racing as he stands up, wobbling when the movement gives him a head rush. Harry isn’t moving, completely still in front of the doorway. 

“There was a trial. The footage was played a lot, and they also played audio of your interrogation. I was let off on self defence. A week in solitary, and I have double shift chores for three months.” Harry’s voice is shaking, but exactly the same. It feels like it’s been years since he heard it. 

Louis steps up to him, seeing more as he gets closer. His hair is a wreck, and there’s deep circles under his eyes like he hasn’t been sleeping well either. His eyes are on the floor, eyebrows furrowed. Like he’s feeling guilty. He might be guilty. 

Louis reaches out and touches his chest, feeling his warmth. Not dreaming, then. Not hallucinating. Fuck. 

“Harry,“ he chokes off when the boy drops to his knees, much like he did a week ago. He holds his hands clasped in front of him. His knuckles are still a little bruised from the punch he gave the second guy. 

“I’m sorry, Louis. I’ll never hurt you. I could never—“

“I know. Hey, I know you won’t hurt me. I’m not scared of you, hear me?” Louis kneels as well, knees weak anyway, enveloping the boy’s clasped hands in his. Harry meets his eyes, finally, his own welling up. 

“You were. You didn’t see your face, Lou. Just, like, like I’m your worst nightmare. I could’ve just knocked him out, but I didn’t. I didn’t stop.” Harry sucks in a breath as he starts to cry. Louis pulls his hands apart and shuffles into his arms, wrapping his own around Harry’s neck. The boy makes a heartbreaking noise and hugs him back twice as tightly, nose tucking right up into his neck, inhaling him like they’ve been apart for ages. It feels that way. Louis might be shaking, not having realised how much he depended on this. On Harry just being here. 

“You saved me, Haz. It was him or me.” 

“I’m sorry—“

“I forgive you,” Louis shushes him, and Harry just cries harder, “bed, let’s go to bed.” 

The boy just fucking stands up without hesitation, carrying him to the bed and sliding in. Then they’re kissing, salty with Harry’s tears and just everything Louis been missing for this last week. 

He pulls away and combs through the boy’s curls until his sniffling slows to a stop and his breathing evens out. He wants to ask about it, then. His questions of why he’s in prison. How Harry learned to fight like that. How and why and who and everything in between. 

It’s an emotional night, though, and with Harry in his arms again, his body is relaxed. He closes his eyes as the prolonged exhaustion from this week hits him and he falls right to sleep, hand still tangled in the boy’s ringlets. 

-

Louis wakes up alone, and only panics for the two seconds that it takes his eyes to adjust in the dark and see Harry’s on the floor, meditating. Glancing at the window, he finds the sky is just the slightest hint of blue, the sun not even rising yet. It must be an hour or two earlier than they usually meditate. 

He slides out of the bed and takes the blanket along, settling opposite him. He doesn’t meditate, wrapping the duvet around his shoulders and watches Harry breathe slowly, eyes flicking back and forth under his eyelids. 

“Do you want your necklace back?” Louis asks in a whisper, touching at it with his fingers. He’s not religious in the slightest, but it’s comforting anyway. Just because it’s Harry’s. 

“No. Suits you.” Harry replies in the same quiet voice, not even opening his eyes. 

“Can I ask you a question and you promise to answer it? Even if you think I shouldn’t hear it?” 

“Is the question about why I’m serving a life sentence?” Harry asks, eyes slipping open to meet his. Louis swallows thickly. They both know it is. Of course it is. He doesn’t need to nod, but he does anyway, pulling the duvet tighter around his shoulders. Harry takes a deep breath, moving his hands from his knees and instead folding them in his lap as he starts to talk. 

“I was 16. It was late spring of 2010. I was going to audition for x-factor, so I was searching up songs to sing. Practicing and that. My sister Gemma was dating this guy who liked to hold her a bit too tightly. I was practicing my song and I heard this slapping noise. I went to her room and found her tied to her bed. He was using the handle of a wooden spoon.” 

“Jesus Christ.” Louis whispers. Harry’s eyes close at the memory, his hands beginning to shake. 

“So..I picked up our metal baseball bat and beat him out of the house. He ran off and I thought he’d go to a doctor or something, but I found out he’d just gone home as if it was just another regular day for him. I couldn’t let him get away with it, so that night I drove to his house and snuck in through the basement window. It was a rather small house, just two bedrooms and the usual family rooms. I opened the oven and cranked all of the stove eyes up. They had a gas stove, you see. I left and learned later that what seemed to happen is someone turned on a light when they smelled the gas and it caused a spark. The explosion was so big that the neighbours treehouse also burned down.” 

“And your sister’s boyfriend?” Louis asks, heart racing.

“Not just him. His dad was the one who switched on the light. I was told he died from the initial explosion. The boyfriend burned to death in the hallway, and my sister died when the house collapsed after she spent 13 minutes inhaling smoke and trying to get to the attic and escape.”

“Your sister was there?”

“She loved him anyway. Even though he hurt her. She couldn’t see that he was abusing her. She’d snuck out a few hours before I had to stay with him and probably reassure him after I’d kicked him out. I didn’t know she was there. I confessed, of course. I was supposed to get the chair, but because of my age and the complexity of the situation, I was given life without parole instead. Triple murder.” Harry’s voice is a scary level of blank, but his hands shake in his lap. His eyes are glossed over as he remembers. 

Louis processes this information for a few minutes, and Harry watches him, shaky hands fiddling in his lap like he’s nervous. Louis’ never seen him nervous. 

“The..” Louis starts, clearing his throat when his voice breaks, “the x-factor audition in 2010. Was it in Manchester? That summer?” 

Harry blinks like he’s confused. Right, it must sound weird to ask about x-factor after he’s just confessed to triple murder. But, they’re both sort of fucked. It’s been said before. 

“Uh, yeah, why?” 

“I was going to audition for that same one. Had the papers and everything, then I met Stan and fucked off to smuggle drugs instead. Crazy, we could’ve met then. I was 18.” There’s a beat of stunned silence, then Louis huffs a laugh. It’s a bit manic, that laugh, and Harry’s eyebrows furrow in worry as he reaches over but hesitates. He probably thinks this changes things. It should change things, shouldn’t it? To learn that Harry’s taken four lives that he’s aware of.  _Four_. 

Louis takes his hesitating hand, still smiling like he’s fucking insane, which he might just be. 

“Thank you for telling me.” 

“You aren’t afraid?” Harry asks, squeezing his hand now that he has it. 

“No, H. I’m not going to say it’s okay, because we both know it’s not, but it’s..you were 16. Don’t you realise how young that is? I mean, I have younger sisters, and if I found out they were being abused I would consider murder too.”

“Except you wouldn’t actually do it. I’m not, like, normal. 16 is plenty old enough to realise I can just call the  _fucking_ police and report him, not blow his house up like a psychopath. Just like 19 is old enough to realise I can knock a guy out instead of smashing his head in. I’m—I’m not good, there’s something wrong with me.”

“And I’m still smiling. Don’t you think that means something’s wrong with me too?” 

Harry chews on his lip, his long fingers trailing up Louis’ wrist, feeling gently over the bones of his hands, the soft skin of his palm. He seems to not have a response, so they sit like that together, hands tangles and eyes locked. They sit there for at least an hour or two until breakfast. 

Louis’ falling for a murderer, and he’s at the point where he doesn’t even care. 

-

The first time he sees Harry smile is three days before Louis’ birthday, four days before Christmas, three months into his sentence. 

They’re in the lounge together. It’s snowing outside, and there’s a shitty radio playing instrumental holiday music and mostly driving the inmates out of the lounge, but he and Harry sit and put a puzzle together, humming along to the music, making up their own words to the parts they don’t remember the lyrics to. 

There’s lacklustre fake holly taped to the barred window sills, but that’s about as far as the staff went for decorating. Nobody really cares to put criminals in the holiday spirit, apparently. 

“I’ll be home for Christmas, you can _c_ _ome_ on me.” Harry sings. He definitely could’ve make it through x-factor with his voice. 

“It’s ‘plan’, you cheeky fuck,” Louis giggles, and yet, “please have some snow and mistletoe, and cock by the tree.” He finishes off their dirty version of the song, and his heart skips as he watches a slow smile spread on Harry’s face, and fucking  _dimples_ dig into his cheeks. Suddenly, he looks years younger than he is. 

Louis’ so surprised that he drops the puzzle piece in his hand and it flips onto the floor. Harry looks up to him in confusion, smiling falling immediately. 

“Lou?” He asks worriedly. 

“You’ve been holding out on me, Styles. If I’d known you were hiding baby dimples I’d have tickled a smile out of you ages ago.” He leans over and picks up the dropped puzzle piece, onto to throw it at the boy like he’s actually cross. His heart is thumping in his chest. It really is a nice smile. He’d almost forgotten smiling was a normal facial expression after three months of frowning. 

“Oh.” Harry says lamely, touching at his cheek like he hadn’t even realised he smiled. He even looks confused, and it’s more depressing than anything. Like he’d forgotten smiling was a thing he could even do. 

“Give me another.” Louis says softly, touching his foot to Harry’s shin under the table, tapping him like a question. Harry looks back to the half finished puzzle, hair falling over his eyes. 

“I can’t just force it out—“

“Think of something that’ll make you smile, then. Please?”

Harry huffs and shakes his head, but meets his eyes again. His eyes soften, his eyebrows stop furrowing, and within seconds his lips curl into a smile, those dimples digging deep into his cheeks. Louis wants to poke one, so he does, reaching across the table and tucking a thumb into the boyish feature. 

“Cute,” he murmurs, “m’ gonna come in those tonight, if that sounds like something you’d enjoy.” 

Then there’s teeth, and Harry bites into his lip to try and hold his grin back, but it’s too late. His eyes are sparkling and everything. Truly a heart breaker kind of face. The kind of smile that could’ve easily sold records. 

“I’ll clear my schedule.” Harry jokes, and Louis’ heart is yet to calm. He leans back in his chair and finds it hard to look away, even when Harry looks back to the puzzle and continues placing the pieces, smiling naturally fading but expression not returning to a frown. Just a neutral focus as he hums along to Santa Baby. 

Louis might be in love. He takes a shaky breath, and aches all over as he once again mourns the future. Not just the future they have, with Harry serving for life and Louis leaving, but also the future they never experienced. The possible difference ways they could have met. Both having planned to audition for the same show at 16 and 18. What if they’d met there? What would their lives look like then? 

Harry reaches out his left hand and takes a hold of Louis’ dainty wrist over the table, finger absentmindedly tracing over his rope as he searches for the next piece. 

Louis smiles contently at him. In the end, he’s thankful they met anyway. Thankful that despite their wild rides, they ended up together. Here. Harry’s cross resting between Louis’ collarbones and Louis’ foot trapped between Harry’s sweetly under the table. He has 9 more months with him. 

It’s enough, for now. 

-

It’s enough for another 7 months. Prison is prison, at the end of the day, but they find strength in each other. Other inmates come and go. Niall is released after a tearful goodbye and promises to write. 

Their meal table dwindles to three, until Liam shyly introduces them to a newcomer named Aidan, asking if he can join their group. Aidan is nice and is serving 6 months for trying to break into Buckingham Palace to steal an ashtray, which he reveals in a rather hilarious story that leaves he and Liam near tears. 

Aidan is just starting to ask them why they’re serving, when a vaguely familiar officer steps up to their table. 

“Tomlinson, warden’s asked to see you.” 

Louis looks to Harry, who looks just as confused as he does, squeezing his hand under the table. 

“Okay. Be right back, lads.” He stands and follows the officer, looking back to Harry to find furrowed brows and worried green eyes. 

He’s led to the warden’s office, and shivers as he remembers the last time he was here. The day of the Kieran incident. He sits at that same puffy chair, and the warden is giving him a weirdly friendly smile. 

“Have I done something wrong?” Louis asks, confused. 

“On the contrary. Since we last spoke, you’ve gotten a lot better, it seems. You finish laundry on the dot without fail every day, you keep out of trouble, and I’m told you’re speaking up in a positive way during group meetings. Have you heard the term gain-time, Louis?” 

“Uh, no.” 

“Well, due to your good behavior we’re granting you an early release. We’re dropping your last three months, and a van will be by in the morning to pick you up. Congratulations!” The warden slaps a stamp on a paper with a nod. 

“Oh..thank you so much.” Louis hears himself say, but he feels like he’s underwater, sort of. Early release.  _Early release._ He hadn’t even been thinking of release yet, putting it as far back in his mind as he could so he could enjoy his time with Harry. 

God, Harry. He isn’t ready yet. He isn’t ready to leave him. He knows when he leaves him it’ll be forever. He expected three more months, not fucking  _tomorrow_. 

He’s in a daze as he stands up and shakes the wardens hand. The officer leads him back out of the room, and there’s a few hallways between here and the cafeteria. As they pass up the double doors that lead to front security, Louis very abruptly realises something. 

He’s yet to tell Harry he loves him. What is he going to do? Go back to the cell and say ‘hey I love you but I’m leave tomorrow sorry!’? 

_He doesn’t want to leave_. 

He doesn’t want to. He’s not ready. He can’t leave yet. He can’t leave Harry. He doesn’t want to go back out there. Doesn’t want to see Stan or those disgusting bags of coke again. He just wants Harry. Wants Harry forever. 

“I can’t—I can’t..” he stops walking, hand to his chest as his heart beats too quickly. The officer stops, and sets an arm on his shoulder. Louis suddenly realises why he’s familiar. He’s that same officer from that day with Kieran. The one who gave him a minute to breathe before dragging him away from the scene. 

“I’m sorry.” Louis whispers, and before he even processes what he’s going to do, he reaches for the officers belt. They don’t carry guns, just batons and tasers. The taser is enough. 

The officer’s shout is cut off when he seizes with the shock, collapsing to the floor. Louis’ hands shake as he drops the taser, watching him groan with the tasing. 

Then there’s more shouting, more officers appearing out of thin air. Louis punches the first one square in the jaw, the next one in the nose, and he keeps flailing until he’s grabbed and shoved roughly to the floor, chin hitting the tile painfully. 

He relaxes completely as he’s handcuffed, and as he’s dragged away from the scene, from the three injured officers, he spots a camera mounted near the ceiling, angled just right to have caught the whole thing. 

Perfect. 

-

“I just don’t  _understand_ , Tomlinson.” The warden sighs, rubbing circles into his temple stressfully. 

“Like I said, he touched my shoulder and I freaked out. I can’t be touched. Am I in lots of trouble?” He feigns fear, digging his nails into his palms to make his eyes glossy. The warden frowns and shuffles through the papers in front of him. 

“You’ll have to face the judge again. I might be able to help out with the minuscule details, but it’s likely you’ll have time added to your sentence. Look, I like you, and I have a feeling this act out had something to do with your early release, but I can’t use that in a court. It’s out of my control. You assaulted three of my officers.”

“I’m really sorry.” Louis frowns, looking down to the table like he’s guilty. Harry’s necklace dances between his collarbones. He’s not sorry, if he’s honest with himself. 

He’s not even a little sorry. 

-

He gets three extra years. One year for each count of assaulting an officer. To top it off, he gets a month in solitary. 

It almost makes him laugh, because it’s like he and Harry had switched places. That week after Kieran, Harry had spent here. In one of these dark hellholes they call rooms. No sunlight, no lights off for bed. Just four walls and a tray of food sliding into the room thrice a day. It’s fucked, and he’d probably have offed himself by the second in normal circumstances. 

But it’s not normal circumstances, because Harry’s necklace around his neck provides a sweet reminder of what’s to come. Three more years. Three more years with him. He lies on the bed and sings to himself as he counts down those thirty dark days. He does pushups every evening to keep active, and he meditates every morning, only hoping Harry is still continuing their tradition in their cell. Only hoping his bed isn’t replaced. Only hoping they believe his shit about not wanting to be touched and won’t realise he’s just assaulted three officers so he won’t have to leave his prison boyfriend who’s murdered four people. 

So he’s undeniably fucked, whatever. 

-

On day 31, an hour after sunrise, he’s handcuffed and led out of the hole. He squints in the bright light of the hallways, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu, remembering his first day in prison. The fluorescents still give him a headache. 

His stomach is turning and his heart is pounding by the time he starts to recognise the hallways. They pass up the cafeteria, noisy with the inmates attending breakfast. When they reach the cell, the officer hesitates before reaching in to unlock his handcuffs, likely to know why he was put in solitary in the first place. 

“Thanks, mate.” Louis smiles brightly and steps into the cell, fiddling with the necklace as he steps into the small room. The bottom bunk is made up neatly as Harry always does each morning, the clean freak. There’s a new book sitting at the table, and Louis’ filled notebooks still rest in the drawer, collecting dust. Harry hasn’t read them, respecting his privacy. Louis smiles and shuts the drawer, turning to sit and wait or maybe go surprise him in the cafeteria, when he finds a figure in the doorway, frozen in shock. 

Harry’s eyes rake over him in a heated sort of way, mouth agape. He doesn’t move a single muscle, might not even be breathing. 

Louis clears his throat, turning to face him. 

“Do you want the bad news or the good news first?” He asks. Harry’s eyes snap up to his when he talks, and his throat works for a moment, hand reaching to the doorway and holding on like he’s dizzy or something. 

“I..bad news?” He rasps. Louis hasn’t heard his voice in a month. His legs feel like jelly at the sound of it. 

“Bad news is I may have assaulted three officers to avoid an early release and have gained three years on my sentence.” Louis takes a step closer, and Harry’s breath comes out of him all at once, eyebrows furrowing. 

“What’s the good news?” 

“Good news? I assaulted three officers to avoid an early release and have gained three years on my sentence.” 

Harry blinks four times, then he takes two steps into the room and gathers him right up, nose to his neck like a fucking animal. Louis may or may not whimper pathetically. It’s been a month, sue him. 

“You’re a fucking idiot. I can’t believe—you were so close to getting out, why the fuck? Stupid, you’re so, god, baby..” Harry’s hardly coherent, and Louis chuckles, lifting his head from Harry’s shoulder to kiss him. Harry accepts this with a hungry groan, shuffling backwards into the wall next to the bunk, hidden by passerby’s so they aren’t caught. It’s probably against a rule or whatever. 

“I’m not leaving, Haz. We get three more years. I couldn’t leave.” 

“I don’t understand,” Harry pulls away, swiping his thumb over Louis’ wet lips, “why would you choose this over freedom? You said you would find someone who will make you happy, you said you’d visit and introduce me to your kids.” 

“You think anyone out there will make me as happy as you do? You think I could tell you I love you and leave the next day?” 

Harry’s eyes widen, hand tightening on Louis’ hip. 

“Louis..” his voice breaks, terribly shaky. Louis grins, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. 

“I love you, Harry. In the strong, uncontrollable way that makes me assault three men without hesitation just so I can stay.” 

Harry tries to frown, but it fails terribly, and he laughs, dimples digging into his cheeks. It’s the best sound in the world. The best picture. Louis can’t come to regret his decision. Not with what he has right here. 

“I love you, too. Have for months now, actually. Didn’t want to admit it to myself and make you leaving all that more miserable. God, three years. Then what?” 

“There will always be officers to assault, H.” 

“ _Louis_.”

“Harry.”

“Louis.”

“Harry, please shut the fuck up and eat me out in the showers later.” 

Harry grins and buries his head in Louis’ neck again, peppering sweet kisses there. Louis smiles, pulling him closer. He’s never close enough, it seems. 

“Only because you asked so nicely.” Harry drawls sarcastically, and then they’re kissing again, neither caring about the bell ringing to let them know it’s time for chores. They’ll both end up late, but it’s only a warning for their first tardies. Harry follows through on the promise, and Louis has to stuff a washrag into his mouth to keep quiet in the showers that evening. When they lie down for bed, they don’t say much, just enjoying being in each other’s arms again. The talking can come later. 

Louis still has plenty of questions. Plenty of things he still doesn’t know. Plenty of reservations and fears and reasons he shouldn’t have done what he did. Plenty of reasons he should’ve avoided Harry at all costs. 

Then again, he’s a little fucked. Harry’s a little more fucked. They’re in love despite the circumstances. Despite all of the shit and the fact that they’re happy about three more years in  _prison_. It’s a fucked situation all around, but Harry’s cross lies between Louis’ collarbones and he’s held tight as he sleeps next to the man he loves. 

It’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> If you plan to comment hate, you were warned in the note, I don’t need to hear it. 
> 
> To those of you who care to leave actual feedback, thank you :))


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